Reviews

Nervous System by Lina Meruane

Only show reviews with written explanations

emsemsems's review

3.0

‘Every time someone digs into their genes they always find black roots.’

‘Fruit ripened on trees of iridescent green. Explosive orange persimmons. Lumpy loquats. Fuzzy peaches split open to bare the raw flesh.’

I found the style of writing (and narrative tone) a lot more enjoyable than the plot/story itself. Well-translated, and well-written, but the story just didn’t do anything for me. It didn’t resonate with me at all. It might work wonders for a different reader. The beginning was fab the middle alright, but it ended with a fizzle, not a bang. And I just prefer the latter, something with a little bit more punch/kick. Gross bits were written beautifully – and I thought that that was interesting. A good amount of well-composed dark humour. Overall, not terrible, but I just didn’t find the story entertaining/amusing. A bit weak actually. It didn’t move me in any way. I found it rather disappointing because the beginning felt so promising. But I’m left curious about her other book, [b:Seeing Red|35479737|Seeing Red|Lina Meruane|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1497886809l/35479737._SX50_.jpg|19238060] because her style of writing is so strangely brilliant.

‘Hypochondria story. In ancient times it referred to an area beneath or hipo the rib cartilage, or condria, and was a digestive disorder of the liver spleen nervous gallbladder. Centuries later the same hypochondria was used to describe a melancholy disorder marked by indigestion and stomach ailments that were hard to pinpoint.’

‘How much does a breast weigh? A kilo? Half? More? Was one breast always heavier and more cantankerous than the other? And how much did its tumour weigh? What was it made of? The same stuff, of course. Fat, skin, some glands with first and last names. Areolas. Nipples. Lactiferous ducts. Cells identical to themselves multiplying their effort to destroy her.’

A lot less ‘academic’ than the blurb(s) suggests. The chapters are broken up into a lot of short chunks which makes for an easy read. The way the novel was organised reminds me of Eva Baltasar’s [b:Permafrost|42200387|Permafrost|Eva Baltasar|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1560013281l/42200387._SY75_.jpg|60749680]. But I prefer Baltasar’s novel in every possible way compared to Meruane’s. A lot of medical references – but I like that sort of writing especially when it’s done in a darkly comic manner. None of the other characters are ‘named’ except for Ella and El – which works well because it helps the reader to not lose track of Ella’s perspective in the novel. It also shows the emotional disconnection between the characters – and the domestic/public dissonance/conflict. The scenes of the political unrest amidst Ella and El’s crumbling relationship was brilliantly written. I like that a lot more than the second half of the novel where the focus shifts towards Ella’s parents. The ‘Mother’ (stepmother) is definitely a far more interesting character compared to the dad (a badly-written character for the most part; too bland). The ‘Twins’ made me laugh, so I can’t complain.

'And the doctor distracted her by showing them glands hemorrhoids cloves that were the seat of the nervous system, sympathetic, somatic, and parasympathetic. And antipathetic, Ella thought, but that adjective wasn’t for the doctor, because this specialist was all warmth and goodwill, while El was no longer the person he was when they met. She thought about hatred, the explosion, about fear, about the enigma of the skeletal remains and the lives that came before them. That’s what Ella was thinking about and maybe El was, too, that maybe with time everything would be restored, but maybe not, because there in the night the stupid stars still hung and sprinkled calcium over the universe.'

‘Hadn’t the Mother talked about how cunning rodents were? His brittle voice, his cavalier glance. His sister reminded him that every species had its suicides.’

Some descriptions in the novel are somewhat violent and graphic but written well enough. But I felt that they were mostly wasted on subplots that didn’t actually go very far. Maybe that’s Meruane’s way of illustrating the pointlessness of casual violence on another level? I particularly enjoyed the narrator’s ravings and musings about the ‘stars’ and cosmic matters. She doesn’t even do it in a serious, philosophical way like one might expect her to. Most of her cosmic ramblings are used to construct humour and/or dark humour. Other than that, Ella’s recollections about the ‘rats’ are probably the most memorable bits for me. Brilliant writing; half-arsed attempt of a plot/story (that just didn’t work for me). Far too much Freudian ‘influences’ – and that usually puts me off (and this was no exception). Would have liked it a lot more if Meruane used Bataille instead. This is a novel that I’ll probably never read this again, but I’m very fascinated by her style of writing – and that makes me want to read Meruane’s other/future novels.

‘In other words, says Ella, the cells that kill you are the same as the ones that cure you. In other words, says the Mother, correcting the daughter, if those cells don’t defend against foreign bodies, or if they defend you even from your own cells, it means the system has gone bad. 404 error. System gone mad. Please restart.’

‘Space curved around matter. The vibrating universe, the hissing galaxies. The insolent distance of stars. They slept guarded by a milky moon and pastoral constellations. They woke up with the sun in their eyes.’

I had El Zar’s album, Pura Casualidad on repeat while reading this and I think their music certainly complements the writing quite well. Playful, and easy-going, but a little dark.

‘Pain isn’t a priority, she says breathlessly, pain is life, it’s consciousness and possible recovery.’

havingsaidthat's review

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4.0

Beautiful exploration of illness, the body and it’s traumas and how those are passed on from generation to generation. Do not be fooled by the back-cover blurb though. This is certainly not a story about a woman writing an astrophysics PhD thesis and inventing an illness to justify her lack of progress. If anything I would criticise that the book does never fully return to this initial premise. While her family comes to life through stories set in past and present, Ella remains vague and intangible until the very end.